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Gardel, hard times and its memory
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First of all, I want to say that already at the turn of the nineteen century my grandfather was the pizza supplier for the Mercado de Abasto area and that my uncle, like my mom, were born in front of that big emporium of many things, among others, employment. By then the area was one of the most dangerous sites in the developing proletarian orb. Chronicles highlight -for example- that around 1901 Juan Carlos Argerich and José "Cielito" Traverso had a knife fight. My grandfather Pedro always tried to explain in his poor Spanish what he remembered of that fight. He used to say that they had fought for a question of money ("soldi") and because Argerich did not accept to pay, "Cielito" murdered his debtor. And he added "O povera America li", according to the phonetic version that my ears had kept and which I never understood, or in other words, if I understood I preferred to ignore. My grandpa used to go to the O'Rondeman's to drink his accustomed "Pineral"; a healthy habit that luckily his grandson inherited. The latter still today thanks his grandfather for having initiated him into the cult of worshipping the beverage manufactured by Pini Hermanos. Some friends of my uncle's, a bit older than he was and whom I came to know when they were around fifty years old, were at that time "movers" (their occupation was to move household goods from one residence to another). They never did without that black cummerbund around their waist. They were rather stout and, according to my Dad, those boys never feared a challenge. They frequented the cheap barrooms near El Abasto, where they used to "suck" their little cup or cups. I don't remember exactly the term. At the cheap restaurants they used to eat their big stews and "minestrunes" (soups).
One of them, the fair-haired Emilio, told us that he had been present the day Carlitos and the "Oriental" Razzano met at Gigena's place on Guardia Vieja Street. The latter was a well-known street because my mother was born on it. "El Morocho" was then local because the other one was from Balvanera Sur, an area where, so they said, people was a bit more peaceful that those in El Abasto. However, Emilio said, the day of the encounter most of the men present were armed. The first to sing was Razzano and as soon as he finished "El Morocho" stood up and shook hands with him. After that he turned round and told Emilio, who had followed him: "This guy really sings nice!". Every time "El Rubio" recalled the "event" his voice trembled and he said something like this: «Carlitos was so great, but so great and so humble, so humble, that since he was a kid the greatest happiness for him was to be gentle with the people he liked». And it was probably true because Emilio said it! Gardel sang later and the "Oriental" was so enthusiastic that the evening ended with everybody drinking wine, gin and mate. They said that days later the scene was repeated at "El Pelado", a venue in Balvanera Sur, but this time Emilio was not there.
Another habitual visitor at the coterie was Primo Gómez. My uncle Luis, seated to drink a "Branca with soda", said that the former was a friend of Gardel's and he used to say that «by that time a young French boy roamed around El Abasto singing touching songs. He was a good-looking kid who wore short trousers and always evidenced a good temper». Primo was son of the owner of the company which moved household goods where "El Rubio" worked. He also said that they, much later, had moved Gardel and his mother to a house on Jean Jaures Street. He was very fond of Carlitos -so he used to call him- and the kid liked him too. All this was told by my uncle Luis, who had worked as fireman first and later as taxi driver. I heard don Generoso Albi, an old man with much affinity with my dad and with Primo's youngest brother, don Amable Segundo Gómez, saying things about Gardel in the latter's kitchen, down there in Floresta, where my parents rented a house. They chatted while they drank mate and played cards, together with "Tano" Juan Torello who had also met "Don Carlos" and who signed as witness the birth certificate of my mother, doña Rosa, when he was very young and worked for my grandfather. Juan Torello boasted having served pizza with fainá to Carlos a thousand times from his portable stand and having heard him sing much before he was famous. Many times I heard don Generoso, who by then lived at a "petit hotel" on Lezica Street in the neighborhood of Almagro, say that achieving success had meant a great effort for Gardel. Furthermore he said that very often he had no money, but he luckily had loyal friends that supported him. Don Generoso never said it, but I think that he was one of those friends.
On those rendezvous, playing cards (truco) and recalling memories, they talked about the miracle of Carlos' voice, which according to all them, had accompanied him since his birth. Smilingly they commented that he was strong for drinking because he was able to strain his throat as long as he wished as if he had not even tried a drop of alcohol. They as well mentioned Gardel's inclination for heavy eating. "El Tano" don Juan stressed that "good and bad guys" used to go to the venues where Carlos ate and sang. According to him a funny "pack" which included whores, the shopkeepers of El Abasto and the dagger-wielding tough guys who frequented the ballrooms and whorehouses of the area went to those places to have lunch and to listen to "El Zorzal". Those were hard times! said don Juan frequently. I especially remember a story that don Generoso told us, let us see: "Just before marrying I decided to gift Olinda, then my fiancée and now my wife, with a serenade. For that purpose I fixed with Carlos the day and the time of the event. At the appointed time all the ones involved went to the place and as soon as we arrived at our destination "El Morocho" sang several beautiful songs for a long time. Finally a window was opened and Olinda thanked us and also his father opened the street door and invited us all to enter. In the house we ate empanadas (meat pies), drank wine and, at the time of desserts, the sweet toothed Carlos devoured, with purple grape wine, more than two cake portions." The dessert at issue was a delicious dish which was already made in Buenos Aires at colonial times and which consisted of two layers of light dough stuck with milk sweet and covered with a slight layer of glazed sugar. Many years later in the "Repecho de San Telmo" I also eagerly ate this exquisite dessert, now labeled as "Postre de la Abuela" (Granny's dessert).
While I listened to the elder people's chat I found joy by revolving the victrola's handle and by handling lacquer discs that played back Gardel's voice. I was just a kid but Carlos already cast a spell on me, so much so that I did not miss my toys. This combination of things allowed me at an early age to know events connected with Gardel's life. Some of them I still keep in my mind but I don't find them written in any book. I knew of Gardel's death while I was lying in bed by my father's side. He had bought the Crítica paper "sixth edition" to read the details of that unfortunate event. Until that time my today admired "Zorzal" was unknown for me. Time later my father, who had worked as Roberto Casaux's private driver at age twenty, told me that many times he had carried his boss and Carlos Gardel on the car. The years passed, we left the house on Santiago de las Carreras Street in Floresta, and in 1942 or 1943, I don't remember exactly the year, the Aresi brothers decided to meet one evening to go out to have dinner and let their eldest nephews know a typical part of yesterdays with splendid meals and tangos.
I recall that they took my cousin Carlos and I to dine at the "Chanta Cuatro". It was kind of introducing us to society. From then on Carlitos, a guy older than I, ventured into tango steps to the beat of the orchestra of his choice, Ángel D'Agostino. During diner Gardel's name was mentioned many times. It was because wounds were still bleeding and his elf haunted the place. In this way I came to know the "Chanta", now a little more adequate in its appearance in comparison with the hard times of El Abasto and without his bowl grounds at the "backyard" where once my grandfather Pedro used to amaze his countrymen with his good shots. Nostalgia leads me to write these things as an outlet for the spirit to counterbalance all the modernism which has been alienating a Buenos Aires where many like us still live and do not think it is lost yet.
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his is a story that comes to me, let us say, from my family. In it memories of my grandfather, my uncle, my Dad Enrique and their friends are gathered.
